#redacted oneshot

[aggro-my-beloved]

Long In The Tooth (LaskoxDear)

note: happy soulmate september! my heart’s probably still beating out of my chest with excitement when you’re reading this. brb, i’m off to listen to the milo panic attack audio but interact with this if you wanna (pretty pls) summary: *aging stops at 18 until you meet your soulmate* [lasko’s been eighteen for six years now, and frankly, he’s becoming sick of playing a juvenile. what makes his endeavor for a soulmate even more bewildering? they’re one of his students.] pairing(s): LaskoxDear (romantic), GavinxFreelancer (romantic), LaskoxDamien (non-platonic?) warning(s): none word count: 3k estimated reading time: 12 mins

taglist: @ther3alsweetheart @darlin-collins @professionallyyappinabtangst @elles-roses

“SO BE LOOKING FOR AN EMAIL FROM ME f-for your class schedule. Again, I'm sorry about not having a…physical copy on hand.” Lasko combs a clammy hand through his disheveled hair, sparing a discreet glance at his leather satchel lying by his feet. It defends an entire ream of charred papers, originally for the pool of students that Lasko has been bestowed the responsibility of meeting today, but instead, it mocks him. “My printer ran out of ink.”

His run-in with the stubborn fire elemental without patience for one's troubleshooting of his agenda went worse than the guidance counselor envisioned—a surprise to Lasko, who always depicts the worst scenarios before plunging head-first into any social situation. Guess what Freelancer said was true: you think better on your feet than in the air, he reflects. 

“No worries. It’d be my luck,” The student laughs awkwardly, silently inviting Lasko to muster one of his own. 

“Well, before I send you off, do you have my questions for me?” His hands press onto the thick desktop glass, shielding the wood. One spilled cup of coffee too many, and a sputtering request to the Dean was all it took to gain that.

“I do have one.” Lasko’s heart begins thumping uncontrollably, and he thanks every deity above that the water elemental is also not an experienced telepath. What will they ask me? Maybe they want to pick my brain about the theory of shade resurgence. How much research have they done on me as an alumnus? Perhaps they find me unfit to be a counselor and a professor, being human-reared. They don't think I have the history, nor the fundamental teachings from my unempowered parents. Oh, who are you kidding Lasko? They’re probably wanting to know which food from the cafeteria won’t give someone massive—

“You look a little young to be a counselor, don’t you?” As if intrigued by their curiosity, the student creeps forward in the armchair sat opposite Lasko’s, and finds respite for their folded arms on the mahogany desk between them. Before Lasko’s lips could part, the pupil emits a gasp at their presumption. “I’m so sorry, please take that as a compliment. Your soulmate must be lucky to have someone with such a…youthful glow.” The excruciating cringe on their face is palpable (and noticeably lacking age lines), but Lasko revels in the sight of it. For once, he is not the one digging a grave mid-conversation. 

He could only muster a chuckle, eyes settling on his chewed-down fingernails and fidgeting knuckles—the only visible skin on his body that had wrinkles. This presumption is one he’s been unwillingly catering to for his past six years under the university, and his answer, like his relationship status, is unchanging. 

He offers a modest shrug. “Y-yeah, counselor, and professor. B-but you…you’re not wrong. I only look this young because I haven’t met mine yet—soulmate, I mean.” The pinch on the bridge of his nose from his glasses feels abnormally tight as he gauges the student’s reaction. A curious raise of the brow, slow nod—awed. And rightfully so, with how capable and convenient the modern age has made it to scout for one’s “better half.” Apps and chat rooms galore in addition to personal soulmate seekers (a bunch of glorified PIs with hopeless romantic tendencies, as Lasko refers to them) for hire. These things leave a person little reason to go more than a year after eighteen with no celebrated crow'sfeet or growing pains. People think he’s inept or simply non-committal. Lasko considers himself stodgy for yearning to encounter his soulmate organically.

“Well, if it’s any reassurance, you aren’t the only one.” They don’t elaborate, and Lasko doesn’t pry. He remains seated, silently watching them wrangle each strap of their backpack over their shoulders. “Thank you again for the chat, Mr. Moore.” 

“Ah, just Lasko is fine. I’m not near old enough for all that 'mister' stuff.” At least, I don’t look like it, he tacks on mentally.

“Right. I guess I’ll see you around then.” 

He clarifies, “Monday at ten,” which earns him a tilted head. “For DAMN 101, which should be on the schedule that I'llemail you.” A small, upward twitch of their lips leaves Lasko satisfied with the conversation but prepared for the tens of other students who will receive the same news. 

“I can’t wait.” 

He hopes for his sake that the rest are as understanding as this one. 

“Well well, professor, how was orientation today?” Had the man still not reeked of liquid smoke and sweat from his earlier encounter with the fire elemental, or suffered from cramping fingers and aching wrists from the barrage of emails he sent out today, Lasko’s answer may not have been so curt. 

A trace of a scowl lingered in his voice, “Not in the mood, Gav.” At the evil hiss of his name, the demon transferred his gaze from the television to the strung-out university employee entering the den. Lasko makes a show of shrugging off his blazer and settling his fatigued body into the armchair perpendicular to the sectional Gavin and his soulmate were occupying. His roommate proceeds to turn his attention to him, chorting sarcastically, “Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?” Freelancer takes the opportunity to bury their face in the bared crook of Gavin’s neck, releasing a languid sigh of contentment. 

Lasko strives to obscure his frown, but the envy boiling in the depths of his stomach wins while the muscles of his jaw tighten. “Some fire elemental with serious anger issues almost sent me up in flames with my office, destroyed all of my paperwork, and cost me two and a half hours of emailing students their schedules and trying not to sound passive-aggressive. Do you realize how hard it is to type ‘Please see attached for your semester schedule. Thank you.’ without sounding like the biggest assho–”

Amidst his rant, Freelancer’s head pops up from the den between Gavin’s neck and collarbone. “You met Damien?” 

The question Lasko volleys is an answer in itself. “You know him?” Wide eyes with a visible twitch urge Freelancer to dig through the sofa cushions for their phone. 

“Yeah, he texted me earlier. A whole string of back-to-back messages about some university nobody screwing him over with his schedule. I didn’t think anything of it until…” They purse their lips. Lasko watches his friends’ eyes soaking in his appearance–blackened shirt cuffs, tousled tendrils of hair, and all. Should Lasko be expecting some vengeful threat? A stolen personal belonging replaced with a ransom note? A dead sprite in a wrapped box outside his office door? 

“How mad was he?” He scrubs his hands against his face, hoping to wipe the day away with his sour expression. 

“I wouldn’t check your Rate My Professor anytime soon.” Lasko throws his head back in defeat. Tarnishing his paperwork and his reputation in a single day? The ransom note wasn’t looking as unfavorable in comparison. 

“I thought it’d be water that didn’t get along with fire,” Gavin muses with a smirk. Lasko’s mind trails away from the soot-stained carpet of his office to the friendly water elemental he had the pleasure of speaking with earlier. Their curious nature and self-loathing sense of humor is something Lasko would have never considered himself attracted to, seeing as Gavin’s unyielding confidence and inflated ego always put his stomach through a spin cycle. 

A sharp inhale from Freelancer resounds through the house. “Oh my goodness, Lasko!” Instantly, he was patting down his body, checking his pulse, and looking around for the nearest mirror. He already knew he looked like shit, what was the big deal? 

“What, what is it?” Still, he turned his head every which way expecting a large bug or “kick me” sign on his back from Damien—perhaps the earlier onslaught of flames was merely a distraction. Or, the man’s just paranoid, per usual. 

“You have smile lines!” As if imitating a mirror, Freelancer offers a ballooning grin of their own, presenting the faint creases surrounding their lips to him. “You thought you could meet your soulmate and just not tell us?” They motion excitedly between themselves and Gavin, who was absorbing the scene before him. 

“I-I didn’t though, did I?” Did he? He thinks back to all of the students he spoke with earlier in the day, Damien included. A shiver courses down his spine at the thought—he’s always heard the saying ‘opposites attract’ but having a soulmate who wanted to momentarily kill him seems like a stretch. Having a soulmate be one of the many bodies in his class is equally as horrific, but—as he now recognizes—a possibility. “Holy shit, I-I met my soulmate.” 

Gavin inquires after a few seconds, “Who are they?” 

Lasko's head darts up, donning a veil of “oh fuck” on his visage. “I have no idea.” 

Much to Gavin’s chagrin and Freelancer’s enthusiasm, the couple agreed to aid him in compiling a list of the students he’d met in the last twenty-four hours, and omitting the ones who’ve been blessed to find their other half, according to Freelancer’s in-depth “research” when inputting their names online. 

“Sami Tryst is in my Thursday lab! They’ve got an engagement ring, though.” 

“Hudson Lang won a medal in the E&E games last year. He thanked his partner in his acceptance speech.” 

“Jacquelyn Gardner?” Freelancer snorts with a shaking head. “Definitely not your type.” 

Lasko’s head hinges up from the sheet of paper he was eyeing—scrawled with names, and taken straight out of Freelancer’s DAMN 101 notebook. With furrowed brows and an insulted scowl, he beckons “How would you know?”

“She has an eyebrow slit and ‘grade-a carpet muncher’ written in her Instagram bio next to her girlfriend’s name. You really wanna try competing with that, professor?” Lasko stays quiet, even through the contagious mixture of laughs flying around the room from the couple. 

He finally mutters, “Whatever”, and is nonetheless satisfied with a name being crossed off of the list. Four hours and one order from Max’s Rustic Pizza later, the trio is splayed across the living room carpet. Three names remain uncrossed on the sheet, staring back at them tauntingly. 

“Wait, you forgot about Damien.” Freelancer reminds Lasko with a small nudge. Not that he needed the reminder, but a small part of him was hopeful that leaving him off of the list would rule out the chance of them being soulmates entirely. His hands are reluctant when grabbing the pen set beside him, but are deft when writing the fire elemental’s first name below the rest. A last resort. 

“This is-it’s so…so stupid! I mean, aren’t you s-supposed to feel something when you first meet your soulmate? Like, I don’t…I don’t know, butterflies in your stomach or-or, or lightheaded?” Lasko exasperates, tossing the paper aside. It flutters to the ground and lands face-down on the carpet. 

“My jeans felt a little tighter when I met you, deviant.” Gavin’s admission is not lost on Freelancer or Lasko. The professor shields his face from the luminous ceiling fan whirling above him, both his arms locked over his eyes. As he does this, he jerks up and emits a harsh grunt.

“Agh, my neck. What the hell?” He sits up to allow his fingers to assess the tight skin. The invisible knot is yanked once more when he tilts his head too far to the left. “Ow!”

In unison, Gavin and Freelancer are quick to diagnose it. “Growing pain.” Freelancer adds with a fond smile, “It means they’re thinking of you.” 

His head snaps towards them excitedly, and this time, he grits his teeth and bears the stiffening of his muscles. “That’s it! I know exactly how to find them.” An accomplished smile overcomes his face. Complemented by his bloodshot eyes, something unsettling brews in the pits of Freelancer’s stomach. 

“Okay, can you stop looking at me like that now? It’s creepy.” 

“I would, but I don’t think I can move my neck anymore…” 

The awkward quiet grows thicker with every student that files into Lasko’s classroom the following Monday morning, broken occasionally by a squeaking chair or thump of a bookbag colliding with the floor. He studied the roll call list the entire weekend like he was presenting a dissertation, but now that he had reached the time to present, only four names were on his mind. 

“G-g-good morning every-everybody. My-my n-name is Lasko Moore, and I’ll be your professor for DAMN 101 this semester. Don’t think of this as a refresher course of things you may have learned in past institutions, b-but an opportunity to gain knowledge of…of Dahlia’s magical entities, specifically.” He’s afraid if he breathes too deeply, the hefty silence will suffocate him. “Now, I-I’m aware it's a bit—it’s a bit rudimentary to take attendance, but this is only for me to become acquainted with all of you. I’ll only do this for the first few classes until I’m comfortable putting names to faces.” 

The professor wastes no time going down the list. Each name he uttered–even ones that had been crossed off from the list–he let settle into the silence while concentrating his thoughts specifically on that person. It is the most foolish theory he's tested in a while, but he is desperate to know who could complete him so marvelously, and remain so subtle about the fact. The further down the list he goes, the tighter his airway constricts when he sees no visible flinch or sign of pain from any of his students. 

Hesitantly, he chokes out the next name on the sheet.

“Damien Rhone.” He looks up to find no hand raised, nor the rest of Damien’s body. Seconds tick by without a response, and Lasko feels even more on edge due to the lack of his presence. If the names that follow elicit no reaction from any of the students, either his “fool-proof” plan would be marked a failure, or he’d have to settle with the fact that he and his soulmate wouldn’t have the cutest “how we met” story amongst his friends. There’s a lot that can beat a late-night run into seven-eleven, but almost going up in flames might have to take second place. 

As he feared, the last name on the list gets crossed off when he marks the student present (and taken) judging by the early age spots marking their skin. He huffs but doesn’t make his agitation any more visible. After all, he is at work and his soulmate…who knows where they are. Hosting this lecture felt more taxing than all the others he’s taught within the last six years at the university. Discussing DAMN’s cornerstone neighborhoods for different magical beings is something he merely cites, amid his daydreams of arriving home to a relaxing cup of tea and a lengthy video essay to put him to sleep on his couch. The thought became so enticing, that he cut the class short by a whole twenty minutes and sent each departing student with instructions to acclimate to the university campus. While shoveling manilla folders and stray pens into his bag, he gets interrupted by a tap against his shoulder. 

“Excuse me, Lasko?” He cranes his neck at the voice, dripping anxiety. They offer their name and elaborate when Lasko furrows his brows. He swears he can feel a crease in between them that wasn’t there last night. “We met yesterday. I made a fool of myself, and then you said you’d email me my schedule. You never called my name when you were taking attendance, though. This is DAMN 101, right?” 

Lasko recalls their conversation vividly. He was post-adrenaline rush and flustered as all hell, but somehow their blunders were enough to take the edge off of him and his “broken printer”. Now, he studies the crease between their eyebrows. It wasn’t there when they met originally when they inquired about his age and backpedaled into embarrassment trying to fix their mistake. “Yes, it is. And  I’m so sorry for leaving you off the roll call sheet, I’m not sure what happened.” 

Halfway through their understanding nod, they emit a wince and introduce the nape of their neck to their hand. “I-it’sokay, I just wanted to double-check.” Lasko tilts his head, blue eyes turning into twinning seas of concern. 

“Are you feeling alright, dear?” 

“I think I may have slept wrong.”

“What are the chances of it being a growing pain?” Lasko voices his internal demand, throwing caution to the wind, as it were. 

“I’d say fat chance because I don’t have a…” They lock eyes with the man before them. Sleeves buttoned to elbows and crooked frames and smile lines. Crow’s feet decorated his orbital rims like fireworks and the creases of his hands mimicked scored clay. “Oh.” 

“That's about the reaction I was expecting.” 

“I’m sorry, but to be fair, this is new to both of us. Tomorrow I might wake up beside you but I’ll have gray hairs sticking out. Nobody prepares you for that kind of stuff.” Was this a rejection disguised in a prophecy? Lasko will have to hand it to them, it’s one of the more poetic ways to turn someone down.

“If-if y-you’d like to wait b-before we j-jump into…jump into anything, that’s fine. I just, I uh…I just wanted to find you. So bad.” 

“What? No, of course, I want this! I want you—I mean…this is just a lot to take in. Aren’t you supposed to feel something when you meet the person? Like increasing body temperature or…” They carry on rambling, with Lasko admiring no more than a foot away. A fond smile adorns his face, pink lips settled high on his cheeks and draped like a streamer. 

He had found them. 

“Excuse me, Professor Moore?” A panting voice interrupts their discovery as the two watch a student barreling toward Lasko with clear desperation. “I’m so sorry about being late. Did I miss anything important?” His eyes flutter around the room, finding all of the seats bare. “Where the hell is everyone?” 

“Hey, Dames! Meet my soulmate, Lasko. Lasko, this is Damien, my stepbrother.” 

“Soulmate!”

“S-stepbrother?”

soulmate september schedule | main masterlist | abt author

[thottythoughtdaughter]

MAY i request headcanons/one shots/anything for vincent please and thank u... your writing style is giving me brain worms (affectionate)

( i'm obsessed w u tbh. also sorry this is unedited loll )

PICNIC. vincent x lovely . pre-lovely's turning . fluff!

You loaded the car with a heavy wicker picnic basket, the woven kind you only really see on television. But Vincent had seen one while thrifting with Sam and thought of you instantly, plunking down fifty bucks without hesitation.

Bottles of lemonade clinked together, water droplets sliding down their glass necks, ice rattling cheerfully. The setting sun cast an orangey glow on everything, turning your eyes a liquid golden color.

From the window, Vincent stuck his head out into the part shadowed by the roof. "You know, Lovely, when I bought that basket I meant for you to use it with someone else. Like the Shaw pack, maybe. You really don't have to do thi--"

You held up a hand. "Vince, I already put the sandwiches in the car."

"I just mean, a picnic in the dark can't be entirely--"

"Vincent."

"You don't have to do all this for me--"

"Vincent Solaire."

He shot you a sheepish grin. "Well, I can't say I'm not excited."

You moved to the window, placing a kiss on his lips through the glass panes and shutters. His lips gently parted yours, the cold press of his fangs against your warm skin. The sun sank below the horizon, plunging the world into dusky purple light.

You pulled away, and Vincent chased the kiss, eyes still shut. You laughed, stroking his nose.

"Silly," you teased. "Hurry up and get in the damn car."

"Hurry, you say?" Vincent cocked a dark eyebrow, and in a blur, you were in the passenger seat of the car. Your stomach churned, and you turned and punched him.

"Asshole!"

He laughed, giddy, like a little boy playing a prank. "I was just trying to make my Lovely happy. Is that so wrong?"

"Yeah, it is when you make me puke!" you rolled your eyes, smacking him in the chest for good measure.

He caught your hand and pressed a kiss to your wrist. You watched his lips touch your skin and felt a flutter erupt in your stomach.

His eyes met yours, red and serious. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly, lips moving against your wrist. "I didn't actually make you sick, did I?"

You cupped his cheek with your hand, stroking those sharp cheekbones with your thumb. "No, no," you reassured him. "I like it when you pick me up."

He wiggled an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that so, hmm?"

You yanked your wrist away, smirking. "Drive the car, you miscreant."

"Anything you say, Lovely," he smiled, and pulled out of the driveway.

The sun was fully set as Vincent pulled into the parking lot, the headlights of the car creating two triangle-shaped beams through the stalks of the cornfield. Gravel crunched as he hopped out of the car, zipping around to open your door.

"My Lovely," he bowed, proffering a hand.

"Cornball," you took his hand and hopped down. Before you could make your way to the trunk, he pulled you into his chest, holding you close.

"I am a cornball. But only because you're so lovely you make it easy," he smiled. You stood on tip toe to kiss him, then pulled out of reach.

"Enough kisses, lover boy."

"Sure. For now."

He took the basket from you, and you tucked the bottles of lemonade under your arms. Still cold, they pressed against you in the muggy summer heat with a refreshing kiss.

"Where to?" Vincent asked, his red eyes gleaming in the dark. Ordinarily, you would've been terrified, stumbling in the pitch black in the middle of a cornfield. But Vincent was so self-assured, so calming, you would've felt safe even if he wasn't a highly powerful magical being.

Plus, he was so hot, it was almost too distracting.

"Just a little way in. Turn the car lights off, so we can see the stars."

He clicked the car keys, and you were both plunged into darkness. His hand found yours, seamless and familiar.

"All right. This way. Oop, careful there Lovely! Big branch in the way, step up-- yep-- Good. Almost there!"

As he did everything, Vincent led you gently and encouragingly through the dark, his voice guiding you with the warmest affection. His hand squeezed yours with every word, as if thrilled to be reminded that you were still there with him.

You broke into a clearing of grass, the moonlight finally breaking through the cornstalks, glittering constellations filling the sky. You craned your neck upward, soaking it all in, so dazzled you didn't see Vincent approach.

His lips pressed against your neck, then down your collarbone, across your chest, up the other side of your neck. You shivered, hands automatically threading themselves in his thick hair.

"Lovely," he sighed, a prayer.

"Vincent," you murmured, stroking the back of his neck. "This is a picnic, not a freak-fest."

He groaned, collapsing his face in your neck. You laughed, stroking his back. "Up, baby," you cajoled. "The point of a picnic is to eat."

"Then I guess I can only hope you're on the menu for dessert," he winked, that sparkle in his eyes.

You kissed his cheek. "Maybe."

You both set up the picnic, laying out a red-striped blanket, taking out silver spoons and gleaming white plates that looked like little moons themselves. Vincent poured lemonade into plastic cups, and you dished out little sandwiches, angling them just so. A bag of blood was chilled among the ice packs, and you handed it to Vincent with a smile.

He gave you an awed look. "Lovely, this is..."

"I know," you winked. You drew out a few candles, lighting them with a match.

"You're magical," he breathed, drawing you in for another kiss. His lips, so cold, tasted like ice cream on a summer day. His tongue felt like fire.

The stars glittered above you, and you curled into your boyfriend. Vincent Solaire. The love of your life, the joy of your heart. Candles flickered in the wind, illuminating his thoughtful face, as he looked at you warmly.

"I love you," he said.

Your heart nearly burst, full to the brim. "I love you, too."

[agentplutonium]

Been in a weird writing funk for a few months now so I thought I'd try to write something small for y'all here. Of course, it is Milo/Sweetheart. Of course it is a comfort fic. This seems to be the theme when I am not in the best of spirits. Anyway, writing below the cut!!

"Sweets! I'm home!" Milo called as soon as he was in the door. The house was dark, something he noticed when he pulled into their driveway. The text that Milo sent to Sweetheart saying he was on his way home went ignored, which was unusual. The house was quiet too, which was also unusual.

Well, almost quiet, as the meows of Aggro started coming through the house as the cat made his way to Milo. Aggro found him as he was just putting his keys and wallet down, rubbing up against his legs and meowing up at him. He seemed a bit stressed more than usual, which worried him.

"Hi buddy," Milo said, a small smile on his face, bending down to pet him. "Where's Sweetheart?"

The cat blinked up at him for a second before taking off down the hallway. Milo followed without hesitation, worry creasing his brows. He knew that nothing bad had happened, but he still couldn't help but worry. They had bailed on the plans with the pack tonight because something came up at work again. They had been going nonstop for weeks at this point, early mornings leading to late evenings. It wasn't good for them, Milo could say that much. The tension that they carried in their body the last little bit was not fun to watch, or the growing dark circles under their eyes. Milo wished he could stop time every time he heard Sweetheart's alarm go off and they begrudgingly dragged themselves out of bed. Just to give them a few more moments of rest that he knew they deserved.

When Milo got to the bedroom, Aggro was staring at the closed door in front of him. Odd. Normally Sweetheart would leave it open enough for Aggro to come and go freely.

"Is this what had you so worried?" Milo asked him, to which he got a meow in response. Milo knocked gently on the door, ear pressed close to hear if they were in there. He didn't hear anything. A frown edged his lips. "Sweetheart? You in here?"

When he didn't get a response, he opened the door and stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the dark fast and spotting a figure curled up in the bed. Aggro bolted under his feet and was on the bed in a split second. The figure on the bed stirred a bit as Aggro sniffed around before settling beside them.

As Milo turned on the bedside lamp, he realized that Sweetheart had fallen asleep still in their work clothes. He sighed, glad that they were okay and unharmed. He brushed some hair out of their face, hand trailing down their cheek afterwards. Sweetheart stirred a bit more, eyes blinking open at the touch.

"Well hello there," Milo said, a small giggle breaking out from under his breath. He still was rubbing gentle circles into their cheek.

"What time..." Sweetheart slurred, reaching for their phone that was haphazardly placed beside them. If Milo had to guess, they were likely on it before falling asleep, and it dropped when they were finally out. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Just after ten," Milo answered them when they frowned at their now dead phone. "Just got home."

"Sorry," Sweetheart muttered, rubbing their eyes.

"Don't apologize," Milo said, fondness dripping from his words. "But, I tell you what. Why don't you finally get out of these clothes and put on some pyjamas? It might be a bit more comfortable."

Sweetheart nodded, sitting up with the guidance of Milo's hands, a yawn spiling from their lips.

"Stay here," Milo whispered to them, crossing the room to the dresser, rooting around for a pair of pyjamas.

"You don't have to--" Sweetheart started.

"I want to, though," Milo cut them off, already walking back. "I'm still wondering how you were able to fall asleep like this," he said jokingly, placing the pyjamas beside them and plucking off their glasses.

"Was tired after work, and it was, like, 7 PM by the time I got home. I had already eaten so I was just gonna lay down for a little bit. Looks like I ended up falling asleep," Sweetheart explained.

"It must have been a long day," Milo commented, reaching for their wrist so that he could take off their watch. He kissed along their knuckles when he was done, and he just caught the small smile that graced their lips at the motion.

"Something like that," Sweetheart sighed.

He turned to place the items on the bedside table as Sweetheart started to change. When that was done, he reached for their phone to plug it in, already setting the alarms that they set every night in the process. It was quiet in the room, but Milo didn't mind that. As long as he could feel Sweetheart's aura pulsing from them in time with their core, that was all he needed. Not to mention Sweetheart was still half asleep, there probably wasn't anything that they wanted to talk about.

"Are you hungry?" Milo asked after he finished his tasks, pressing a kiss into Sweetheart's shoulder. "When was the last time you ate?"

"At six," Sweetheart said. "Supper was bought for us when we had to stay behind. It was very nice actually. Though..."

"You want a small snack don't you?" Milo teased, already moving back toward the kitchen. "The usual?"

"Please," Sweetheart said. There was a pause before Milo heard their feet come padding behind him. "I love you," They added from behind him.

"I love you too," Milo said, hand instinctively reaching behind him. Sweetheart's fingers intertwined with them in a heartbeat, making Milo's chest fill with warmth. "Some would even say I love you more."

"Impossible," Sweetheart said, chuckling.

In the kitchen, Sweetheart didn't break away from him until he handed them their smoothie drink from the fridge. Milo grabbed the last of the strawberries from the fridge, and grabbed a bowl and a knife, before settling beside where they sat on the counter.

"How was the party?" Sweetheart asked. "Did you have fun?"

"Not as much fun as I would've if you were there," Milo said sincerely. He loves his pack, of course he does, but he also loves showing off for Sweetheart who loves his antics. Secretly.

"Oh, stop," Sweetheart said, but even when they took a sip of their drink they weren't able to hide their smile.

"And the pack missed you," Milo added. "Got asked where you were at least every few minutes for the first, like, half hour."

"They missed me that much?"

"You've barely been around for three weeks at this point, Sweets, of course they have," Milo said. "They love you."

Sweetheart didn't answer, but Milo could sense that they were glowing without even looking at them. When he did glance at them, he was caught by their beauty again. Even like this, with their hair a mess, cheeks red with sleep, and the last remaining lines fading from their skin. God, was he ever lucky to have them.

When Sweetheart realized what he was doing, they groaned, pushing his face away from them. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" Milo asked, chuckling.

"Looking at me like that!"

"Like you're the only person in the whole world?" Milo asked.

Sweetheart didn't answer, just grumbled something, much to Milo's amusement. "Just focus on the strawberries before you cut your finger off."

"Please," Milo said, "I could do this in my sleep."

"I'm not rushing you to the hospitable if you hurt yourself," Sweetheart said.

"Sure," Milo said. "The love of my life, my mate, wouldn't bat an eye if I accidentally cut myself."

"I wouldn't," Sweetheart said.

"Which is totally reasonable," Milo said, "especially after I've been terrorizing you with my lov--ow!"

Milo dropped the knife, clutching his right thumb with his other hand. Sweetheart immediately reacted, placing their drink down and grabbing for his hand.

"What did I tell you! Here, let me see," They chided, brows creasing together as they pried his fingers away from his thumb to see--nothing. Sweetheart stared at his thumb for a few moments, blinking, before they groaned again. "You jerk!" They said, lightly pushing him away. "I was worried about you!"

"So you do worry when I hurt myself," Milo teased.

"You're evil," Sweetheart grumbled, crossing their arms.

Milo hummed, scootching over so that he could settle between their legs, a hand automatically settling on their thigh. "You love me," he said, his other hand coming up to cup the back of their neck and pull them in for a kiss. For someone who thought he was evil, they sure did respond to his touch, melting into him the second their lips touched.

"Evil," they muttered against his lips, though with considerably no force behind it.

"Will this make up for it?" Milo asked after he pulled away, reaching for the bowl beside them and presenting it.

"Maybe," Sweetheart said. They accepted the offered bowl.

"Dork," Milo muttered fondly, stealing a strawberry half. Sweetheart didn't respond, just wrinkling their nose at him. "Do you have the weekend off?"

Sweetheart nodded. "Finally."

"Perfect," Milo said, smiling.

"I swear to God if you say 'like you'--"

"Like you," Milo said, chuckling when Sweetheart lightly smacked his chest. "Eat, so we can go to bed."

--END--

[vomitspit2]

ok but imagine you and jade are on a hike together for the mountain lovers club blah blah blah something something you happen to go further than you ever have before. a lot of foliage in Twisted Wonderland is magical to some extent. however, you two never imagined stumbling among woodland shapeshifters.

you only happen to realize it when jade grabs your arm in concern (sensing you two have gone too far) pulling you back to face him and coming face to face with one jade with another one behind him. soon enough, another you crops up from the foliage.

even with jade’s keen smell, he can’t distinguish between you and your double. after some comedic back and forth of trying to discover who the real one is (even jade’s unique magic cannot get the shapeshifter to reveal themselves!), it finally happens!

jade — seeing no other option and seeing yours / your double genuine distress — confesses through gritted teeth that he has feelings for you. serving you his best kept secret on a plate.

only for you (the real you) to take his double’s hand and run away in victory, smiling because you finally figured which one is the shapeshifter and which one is not!! YIPPEE!

[rosinchenbroetchen]

Solacious Silence

Summary: [REDACTED] deals with a pesky disturbance who caused his Angel distress, enjoying the quiet that follows their end.

warnings: explicit descriptions of violence, murder, death, [REDACTED] is a warning/j

he/they pronouns used for [REDACTED], they/them pronouns used for Angel/reader -> gn! reader, pre-canon, crossposted on ao3

the game's name is '14 days with you', made and owned by @cutiesigh

word count: ~ 1.5k

^ that's technically Ren and not [REDACTED] but whatever :>

The forest stands eerily quiet, much like every night. As [REDACTED] drags the body bag over damp blades of grass, kept neatly short by the herbivores in this ecosystem, some of the water droplets find their way into his new shoes.

His Angel has been obsessing over a certain character lately, and [REDACTED] ran with the chance to get closer to them, purchasing the new shoes in the process. Endlessly patient with his Angel, however, even if they didn't notice him, they would not be demotivated. Any effort, time and money spent appealing to Angel, making sure they're safe and happy, is absolutely worth it.

Light rustling of plastic interrupts their train of thought, prompting an irritated, sharp look towards the black bag. Instantly, his mind is clouded with annoyance at anything or anyone that dares interfere with mere thoughts of Angel.

Their socks now wet and cold, [REDACTED] wishes to get this over with quickly, no patience for hours-long, cruel torture. He's done it all before: pulling off nails one by one, then painfully breaking his victims' fingers. Already before he'd gotten far, they'd be begging for sweet release. Seconds would span over an infinity as he drained their life force bit by bit. It is amusing to watch them descend into the depths of insanity, a pit they will never be rescued from.

In a way, this one is lucky to catch [REDACTED] on a day that left him with little energy and motivation.

Panicked, the unfortunate individual struggles to escape the dark confines of the bag, kicking their legs and yelling, almost uncertain in their movements.

How unlike them, to sound so scared, unsure and panicked. Though his face does not betray any emotion, a feeling of sweet revenge is already spreading across [REDACTED]'s body, anticipating what is yet to come.

To witness their confident visage crumble is only part of the fun, however. Rather, he does not only do this for fun. No, not even the ruthless, mysterious serial killer would pick his victims at random, for he is not a madman. They are handpicked from the very most deserving of the whole bunch. Their actions towards the only person he sympathizes with, the only one he could ever care for, are utterly unforgivable.

This one in particular has found joy in poking fun at his Angel, not showing an ounce of regret even as they'd teared up, escaping to a more quiet spot to cry in peace. The tears they shed are now in the past, yet they can never leave his memories.

Of course, they'd been shadowing Angel, watching the tears fall and therefore sealing the bully's fate.

"Waking up, I see. Tsk, don't break the bag."

Swiftly, the thin yet sturdy barrier is cast aside, forcing them to look into his eyes.

The devilish, murderous gleam in his eyes makes them flinch, hurrying to get up. Cold and calculated, [REDACTED] strikes them down with a sledgehammer, breaking a few ribs in the process. Hearing their screams is delightful, an addictive, familiar sensation bubbles up inside their chest. Delight is not the right word, however, implying a certain luxury and privilege in fulfilling the action. No, [REDACTED] needs to feel this. He needs to liberate his soul from the constrictive, piercing grip that takes ahold of his body when knowing his Angel is being hurt.

Nothing compares to the feelings Angel's happiness and mere existence blesses him with, but the satisfaction of punishing those that wronged his dear stands proudly in second place.

Far away is the high pedestal, crowned on top sits his wish to be their number one priority. Though still in the distant future, the thought is ever present, determining all aspects of [REDACTED]'s life, who hopes to reach the highest level of fulfillment through this sole way.

And proud he is, standing tall above the cowering figure as they hold a hand to their aching side, weeping and whimpering in pain.

"Are you not going t' ask what you've done? Maybe I'll let you off the hook."

It is cruel, so, so cruel to make them believe in redemption when there is no way for them to crawl out from the grave they've dug for themselves. That is part of the fun.

Face stone cold, they watch and listen to pathetic begging, promises to do whatever he'd ask in exchange for their miserable, measly life.

"I'll make it up to you, I swear, just tell me what I-"

A piercing scream echoes through the empty woods, not a soul around to hear.

"You're so desperate, begging for me to spare your pathetic life. Can't stand your voice, but it's tolerable when you're the one who's scared for once."

A terrible pain is pulsing through their thigh, a knife ramming through flesh; muscle and fat tissue alike as if it's butter.

Their mouth is agape, panting like a dog in the summer heat.

It hurts, the unbearable sting of his ruthless blade, but no more than the hell they would have continued to put his Angel through if he let them live.

Human instinct is strange. His victims, without fail, are often frozen out of sheer shock, pain and fear. It would be in their best interest to run away, to fight back, yet none of them have ever tried - at least genuinely. It is mildly interesting to [REDACTED], and all the more amusing. Perhaps, though, this is just proof that anyone who would stoop so low as to hurt his perfect Angel is nothing but a slimy, disgusting coward.

[REDACTED] feels his hand twitch and takes it as a sign to twist the knife, causing a fiery pain to shoot through their body once again. Thick blood oozes out of their wound, tainting the cool grass beneath. If [REDACTED] were in the mood to stream today, he'd have been tempted to make them taste their own blood, which would surely make the chat go wild.

However, they are not in the mood for a long and slow, torturous murder. Although the bully surely deserves such an ending, [REDACTED] does not have the patience to watch them die slowly today.

Their voice cracks, weak and broken already, though he is sure it hasn't even been a minute. It is so pathetic he could almost feel bad.

"You have made a mistake that does not allow forgiveness. You hurt the only most important person in my life. I cannot allow dirt like you to live on the same earth as them."

Bitter realization washes over them like a bucket of ice water, realization that their days have been numbered. Useless wails and shaky attempts to push their attacker off fail miserably.

"P-please, no, I'll do anything!"

A scarily calm and unbothered expression is on his face, lifting the heavy sledgehammer to unceremoniously bash it into their skull.

Limp and lifeless, their body falls back onto the grass, causing it to rustle softly.

Finally.

Now, the forest can return to its natural state. Quiet. Undisturbed.

[REDACTED] does not understand the term 'eerie silence'. Nothing about the absence of noise, whether the noise in question would come from the awfully loud cars, bothersome neighbors or bullies whose necks he hasn't snapped yet, feels the least bit intimidating to him. Unless the silence is suspicious, the opportunity to roam through his mind without disturbance, to think about the things he loved most, is truly appreciated, at all times.

Now, in the quiet of the forest night, they focus on each of their senses, one at a time.

While the faint smell of green, damp grass mingles with the pungent smell of red blood, earthy notes compliment the mix. Still, their keen nose notes that the bloody smell left a thick coat over the others, yearning to stand in the spotlight much like the person who it belongs to. Peaceful thoughts are interrupted by the disgusting smell reaching [REDACTED]'s tongue, lying heavy on the sensitive taste buds.

Much to his relief, though, that sickening voice no longer interrupts the beautiful view of the silver moon, or his perception of the more subtle noises such as the soft wind combing lovingly through the trees above and their hair alike.

Quiet times are an ointment for his scarred, disturbed soul. Nothing that could truly heal him, but it numbed the pain for sure.

He has to laugh. If only Angel's mind were as depraved as his, they may have come along to appreciate the romantic scenery together. However, the pungent smell of blood, not to mention the presence of a corpse, would ruin whatever they likely thought of as 'romantic'. Besides, for a shot at going on a date, he'd have to be noticed first.

But there is time. No time spent waiting is wasted if he's waiting for them, protecting them as [REDACTED] roams in their shadow, quiet yet persistent.

[thebookbutterfly]

Attention all writers on tumblr! Your work might be being used to train AI Models. 🚨

To prevent this, turn on the setting preventing 3rd party sharing in your settings under Visibility.

This has been a Book Butterfly PSA 🦋

[themonotonysyndrome]

The Two Sides Of The Lovely Coin

Author's note: I can finally leave! Martha, I'm coming home, sweetie - *Erik posts a new video with a Listener development* I'M BACK IN THE FUCKING BUILDING AGAIN!? nsdjkfnsdjkfds and it's even in Porter's POV!?

You know what? Well played, Erik. Hope y'all enjoyed it because I didn't expect the teaser post for this fic would get so much traction.

Also, credit to @lobster-graphics for the dividers used in this post.

Pairings: Vincent/Lovely & Porter/Treasure

Summary:

To Porter, accepting Vincent’s dinner invitation has its pros and cons.

Pros: Tend the olive branch with Vincent. Cherish Treasure by sharing more of his world with them. Let go of his duty as William's cloaked dagger for the night. Mayhaps grow a little more as a person.

Con: Vincent’s partner

Word count: 1,534

Tags: None except Porter being lowkey afraid of Lovely, lol Oh! And I guess Adam is there but only mentioned.

Delightful surprises are something Porter sorely needed more in his long life. 

And would you look at that? Vincent actually makes for a decent dinner host. Not that he’ll ever admit it to the Prince’s face. The two might be tentatively tending to that olive branch but as adjustment period goes, the persistent awkwardness is ever present. 

Still, the home cooked meal paired with a bottle of Merlot and O+ was excellent. The conversations exchanged across the table were easy, pleasant enough and most importantly safe; Frederick is still chasing after Bright Eyes but this time, around D.A.M.N whenever they try to skip classes. Treasure’s nosy coworker who they suspect to be a Vampire but instead of feeding on blood, it’s gossips and Vincent’s travel plans. 

No one mentioned William or the Summit. 

As the bottles grew empty the longer the night draws, the lighting and Spotify playlist playing in the background set the mood just right. It was indeed an evening of delightful surprises one after another. 

Porter struggle to recall the last time he had such a good time.

Well, almost a good time if his body isn’t on a permanent fight or flight response the moment he was ushered in to sit in front of Vincent’s beau. 

“Hey, what’s the name of that song again? The one that goes, ‘I was more than just a body in your passenger seat and you were more than just -‘ Uh…” Treasure pauses in the middle of stacking the dirty plates for Vincent. They look around for help. His beautiful partner had been hesitant when food was served, clutching his hand underneath the table, but over the course of Vincent playing the role of the jester, the tension lining their shoulders eases.

Porter opens his mouth - the lyric on the tip of his tongue - only for Lovely to beat him to it. “‘Somebody I was destined to meet. I see you go half-blind when you’re looking at me, but I am.’” Lovely sings, soft but never shy. Chills run down Porter’s spine when they smile at his Treasure. “It’s Granite by Sleep Token. Maybe next time we can rent a karaoke lounge for the night.” 

“I’ll put that in our calendar, Lovely! Although I’m not sure how we’re going to survive the night with Porter’s tenor.” Vincent reply from the kitchen. Porter valiantly pull himself back from wincing. Hollering, is the more apt term for the sake of the only human in the house. 

“You’re one to talk. I seem to recall a certain someone vetoed your suggestion for a karaoke suite in the manor.” Porter dryly quips without any heat. It would seem that bickering is something that neither of them refuses to let go of. It suits Porter just fine. “Though it was quite comedic seeing you try and bribe a man with the pocket money he gave you.” 

Excuses are stuttered and eventually drowned by the sound of rushing water in the sink. Treasure scoops the last plate and disappears into the kitchen to help him. But not before giving Porter a grateful look. To which he reciprocated with a fond smile. 

…It promptly disappears once Treasure is gone and is replaced with a Cane Corso in the body of a Vampire staring dead - hah - at him. 

Bright Eyes' unhelpful yet gleeful outburst during the Summit echoed without his consent:

"Yoooooo! Lovely got that dog in 'em! Do you think they can slap me, too!?"

"...I'm going to ask the therapist to add an extra day for your weekly session."

"It's a kink thing, Sam!"

How apt Little Bright's description was.

Strong, William answered when he was allowed to return home and didn't know what was considered safe to ask. Kind, Sam replied with a raised eyebrow when the iciness between them thawed somewhat. Enamored, was the passing comment by Alexis after being forced to introduce herself.

And the first time he actually met Vincent's partner was only across the room with the Prince's arm around their waist. as they dance all night long. Lost in each other's eyes as if the world doesn't exist.

But it didn't matter.

Because Porter already made the severe mistake of underestimating them.

Right until that clusterfuck of a Summit.

The longer Lovely is staring at him, the stronger the urge to cradle his cheek from the phantom stings becomes harder to resist.

(He swore that he could feel sharp currents biting through his skin.)

So he scratches his cheek with eyes darting to the painting on the wall (a bit gauche for Porter's taste). He clears his throat when the silence spiral from awkward to unbearable.

"You had magic before you Turned, didn't you?"

Silence.

"That's... probably a sore subject, still. I-I apologized for my brusqueness. I forget that your Turning was still fairly recent. I didn't mean to be... insensitive to that."

Stare.

Porter restraint himself from digging a hole in the ground and letting it swallow him. His mouth continues to run, to his mortification.

"But when you met Vincent... you were Unempowered. All of these was new to you."

Finally, Lovely softens; appearing more human at the mentioned of their boyfriend. Eyes brightened despite their face barely twitches.

Something begin to re-arranged itself in Porter's mind the more he learns about Vincent's partner.

A new perspective.

Lovely gesture to the porch and Porter follows them outside. Stilted the conversations are, now that it's just the two of them with Porter choosing his words carefully because he doesn't want the slap to be upgraded to a punch and Lovely returning his inquiries with the enthusiasm of a corpse. Though the more they talk, the more Porter notices that talks of magic and Lovely's previous life as an Electro Energetic were not interesting to the other Vampire but oh - oh! Does his fondness for Treasure and harmless teasing of Vincent return the side of Lovely that fooled the world.

"Is Vincent aware of... this?" Porter couldn't help but gesture to all of Lovely after he said his peace and share whatever advice he could about their magic as a former Freelancer.

"Adam did."

Right.

"...Are you going to slap me again?"

"...Do I need to slap you again?"

Right, right - that's on Porter.

"You know," He begins, rather stupidly but he needs Lovely to understand the absurdity of the situation. "No one fools the King; not for long, anyway. And he's terribly protective of his bloods."

A pause and then -

"The Summit was an outlier."

Lovely snorts.

"And yet, we all saw it; how he embraced you during that dinner party. How Vincent was so damn proud and even dear old Sam cracked a smile. The children were beside themselves."

Something ugly and hot bubbled when Porter witnessed Lovely surrounded by others from the sideline. Always the sideline.

"To which I struggled to understand. The first time I saw you, I thought you were nothing more than Vincent's newest obsession. Too gentle for a House like this. Too... replaceable. I thought you'd disappear in less than a year."

Porter cringe when one of the streetlights flickered.

"Honest, aren't you." Was all Lovely said.

He's pushing his luck but still, Porter continues, "Everyone has heard how you came to your magic. So to see the 'you' that the House welcomed and the... 'you' right now... Do you know what that does to a man like me?"

"Pray tell."

"It reminds me that I've underestimated you and I don't do that often."

Enemies of House Solaire would've shudder, but not Lovely. They sigh in annoyance.

"You know why I slapped you."

"I do. But that doesn't change the fact that you're two people. And I know that this side doesn't lose control. It choose violence precisely, strategically even. You bite and when you do, you don't let go."

"You haven't been around Vincent enough to learn that it's mutual."

Porter grimaces. Not wanting to imagine what the two got up to in the bedroom. But before he could dig himself into a deeper hole, it's Lovely who interjects.

"You don't need to worry your pretty, coiffed hair off. I love Vincent. And love, after everything, is not just kind. It's protective. Patient until it's not."

"That's what unsettles me and yet Will - The King - welcomed you." Porter swallowed the bitterness away like medicine. "He doesn't welcome many."

Not even me, was what Porter refused to admit to the night.

"He knows and I didn't need, nor want to hide."

"And he still lets you stay."

It's not an inquiry. It's a declaration.

"He loves Vincent too. Even after their talk. I think... William knows what he needs when he saw me."

And Porter is willing to bet that's one of the reason why he lets Vincent 'leave' the House. Altruistic is a word in the King's dictionary that he only uses if it benefits him.

Because if Lovely was a powerhouse when they were an Electro Energetic, imagine how pleased the King would be if Vincent is involved with a Vampire that could control electricity.

A powerful in law makes for a powerful House after all.

[aimedis]

actors!vincent and lovely cast as love interests in a movie/tv show to real life lovers fic anyone?

[ninyard]

More Kevin/Allison?

okokok here's like. this. for you. it's not smutty but just lowkey horny. (a silly situation where they fuck around with the idea of being friends w benefits bc allison wants some on a night out)

-

Kevin Day tasted like citrus and salt. A wedge of lime in between perfectly shaped teeth, a glossy sheen of warming alcohol coating the lips that his shot had just passed by; Kevin Day tasted like one too many, like a bad idea, like something she'd regret in the morning. Kevin Day tasted like the sharp bite of his favourite tequila mingling with honey flavoured lip balm that spread across his lips.

Allison didn't actually know it to be true; looking up at smiling green eyes that ordered another round for the two of them, eyes that looked back with a mischievous glint - the unsettling thought had found its way into her head like a silently burrowing animal. The taste of his lips should've held no weight at all in her mind, but there they stood, still sweaty after dancing, throats hoarse from the song they'd been yelling on the dancefloor. Waiting at the bar for their drinks, Kevin's upturned lips looked far more uncomfortably soft and enticing than they'd ever looked before.

Too many shots in, and she caught herself wondering what it would feel like to kiss him.

It wasn't that she'd never thought about fucking Kevin before, but a thought was a thought. It was an idea to be kept to herself, something never to be spoken out loud. Dan had jokingly mentioned it more than once, but Allison had shut it down quicker than it had come up. It hadn't been more than six months since he'd started to come out of his shell more often around all of them, no more than three or four months since they'd become each other's best friend under the influence. To think about Kevin's skin on hers was to think of something so reprehensible and disgusting that it felt like a sin. To think about his breath on her neck was to no longer think of him as Kevin Day. It was to picture him as something to find pleasure in, and that simply couldn't happen. Finally they tolerated each other as friends, enjoying their shared company more than they thought they would. Fucking him would only find a way to ruin that.

She'd dreamt about it once - He didn't seem to notice how she avoided him at practice for a week after that.

A thought was just a thought; an unserious idea, an insincere hypothetical, nothing more than that. Kevin Day was an asshole, first and foremost. He was Kevin, for crying out loud. It felt forbidden to even imagine him in any scenario other than on the court. That was his place, his life, his priority. Allison had only recently gotten the low-down on the girlfriend that wasn't really his girlfriend; even then he hadn't seen her for more than a day or two in almost two years. If he were messing around with anyone, it was very well-hidden. Allison couldn't quite picture him having a casual hook-up, let alone a serious relationship. Maybe it was because she'd only seen him for his one-track mind for so long: the only love he needed was exy, and he made that very clear.

But Kevin Day off the court was not the same as he that would be found with a racquet in his hands. Kevin off the court was fun, and comfortable, and far more like her than she cared to admit. They bounced off each other like a pair of childhood friends, and he made her laugh harder than anyone else ever had. They could stand across from each other on the court the day after, half hungover and straight faced, nothing remaining of the knocked back shots and songs sung the night before. Yet, they were a dream team on a night out, the life of the party, far too comfortable with each other. Kevin off the court had once seen Allison in her bra and laughed at the wonky bellybutton piercing she'd gotten at 16. He really was a breath of fresh air, sometimes, when he wasn't in Kevin Day mode.

Kevin off the court was relaxed. Kevin off the court was a little too easy to look at.

I'm due my period, she thought. Her hormones, of course, the only logical explanation as to why she was picturing Kevin's callused and strong hands around her waist, fingers trailing up her back, wet lips on skin, the smell of his cologne and-

"Are you even listening?" Allison blinked herself out of a daydream to look up at him. With one arm leaning on the bar as the barman served up another two golden shots, his smile was dopey with the perfect amount of alcohol. The lights in Eden's were dim enough that he couldn't see the heat that had risen to her cheeks as if she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have been.

"I can't even hear you," A lie yelled over booming music to cover for the fact she really hadn't been listening at all. "Go again."

An inch or two more, he bent down to get closer to her. His breath was hot next to her ear, and she cursed herself for not hearing him the first time. She sucked her lip in, a stifled smile hurting her cheeks. What was she doing? What was she thinking?

"I asked if you're planning on staying late," He repeated himself. "I know Dan said that she's leaving in a little while, and I think Matt's going to get them a ride home. Are you going with them?"

When her first thought was to run her fingers up his bare arms and tell him what she really wanted to do for the evening, it was set in stone; she was a lost cause. Her mind has lost control of the vehicle. The heart that pounded in her chest couldn't be driving either. Her arousal had taken the wheel, and oh, it was driving her head-first, full-speed into a red brick wall.

Kevin handed over his bank card to the barman that served them, and returned his attention to their first-next bad decision. The shot glass slid across the damp wooden bar, and he gestured for Allison to put her hand out. She was mentally beating the thoughts out of her head, but tequila and a dull sensation in the pit of her stomach wouldn't let them go. Kevin held her hand gently in his as he poured the salt onto her hand before his own. The shot glass looked tiny tucked in-between his pointer finger and his thumb.

"No, I don't think so," Allison peeled her eyes away from his hands and held the glass the same way. "Unless you're thinking about going."

Kevin paused for just a second and hummed some sort of answer before bringing his hand up close to his lips. It wasn't lost on Allison how he kept his eyes on her, white salt licked up onto his tongue, burning alcohol hitting the back of his throat before he looked away to grab a lime. Perhaps it was coincidence that he licked his lips with a cheeky smile as his eyes found their way back to the fruit in between Allison's lips. His thumb wiped away juice that had dripped down her chin. She just tried not to think about putting it into her mouth.

"I'm not," He pouted, tucking his card back into his wallet, and looked in the direction of the table that they'd been sitting at. "I have nothing better to be doing than getting black-out drunk with you."

Allison lifted her foot up to rest it on the railing at the bottom of the bar. Kevin had outstretched the arm that rested on the surface next to them, and by Allison's shoulder, he was flipping a coaster between his fingers. The song changed, a perfect cue for them to move, but instead they stayed. Allison hated herself for it, but she would blame the alcohol in the morning; she rested her own arm next to his, and reached out to roll the edge of his short sleeved t-shirt in between her fingers.

"It's better than watching another one of Matt's stupid fucking movies," She tried to ignore the internal screaming, louder and louder as Kevin glanced down at his bicep, and slowly back up to her face. The slightest crease formed between his eyebrows, but he didn't pull away. Instead it was accompanied by a subtly growing grin. "I'll go crazy if I have to watch King Kong one more time."

Kevin laughed, and for just a moment, it felt like they were in some sort of alternate universe.

Kevin's had pressed his thumb to her skin, at the back of her elbow, a look in his eyes, words hiding behind his lips that she could read through his transparent skin. Perhaps she was thinking about herself instead - her cheeks flushed and hot with her fuck me eyes out of control.

Projecting onto him was easier than admitting she was prepared to blow him in the toilets if he wanted her to.

It was an impossible suggestion that shouldn't have been entertained at all. There were so many things that could go wrong, so many car crash scenarios that could be avoided by walking away right then and there. Her inhibitions were lost, and it didn't matter that it was a self serving desire and a really fucking terrible idea.

Instead she wondered what Kevin Day tasted like, with all logical thinking long throw out the window.

"What?" He asked, then, a knowing tone to his voice, his words wet with alcohol.

"Nothing," Allison pulled her eyes away from his face and down to the fabric in between her fingers. "What do you mean, what?"

Kevin opened his mouth, but closed it with a grin, and took his hand away from her arm to place it flat on the bar. Like she'd been shook out of a daze, Allison did the same, but the twisting of her stomach was an inconvenient and intrusive reminder of what she was really thinking about.

"What?" She pushed him instead, tilting her head to be better in his view, but he was quick to move himself and look away.

"Oh, don't do that," There was teasing to his words, as he threw his head back and tried to wipe the smile off his face. "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" She teased back, gazing at him through her false lashes, while his jaw flexed in frustrated acknowledgement that what she was doing was working. "What are you doing?"

Kevin looked down at her, with that fucking look in his eyes, that insufferable glimmer, that knowing shine. He tilted his head and inched himself closer to her. "Are you bored?"

"Bored?" Allison scoffed. "You're out of options, superstar. Take it or leave it."

Kevin nodded then, and slapped his palm on the bar, before replacing the gentlest, electrifying touch on the exposed skin of Allison’s arm. "See, that's what I thought you were doing, but I figured I was just going crazy. Because there's just no way you'd even consider it. Surely. But you are."

She rested her head in her hand, and bat her eyelashes up at him, only half in jest. "And you're not?"

"Oh, never." The pressure beneath his fingers told her the opposite. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. She'd never seen this look in his eyes before; playful but serious, looking her up and down like it was their first time meeting. "Never in a million years."

"Oh God," Allison hid her face in her hands. This couldn't be happening - even if she really, really wanted it to, in that moment. "I really hope you're talking about what I'm talking about. Oh, please tell me you are, so I don't have to smother you in your sleep and pretend this never happened."

"I don't mind," Kevin grinned, but looked up as if to make sure that nobody was watching. "If you're serious, I'd do it."

Salt, and tequila, and lime. Cologne, and sweat, and breath and- "I'll kill you if you're joking."

He laughed again, a hearty and charming sound, and rubbed a hand down his face. Fingers holding his chin he shrugged and shut his eyes. “Unless you’re joking, then no, I’m not.”

They looked at each other for a moment too long. Kevin lifted his foot to rest it on the railing next to her, their knees grazing off each other. He'd given her the perfect vantage point to look where she really wanted to look, but she worked against the spirits in her veins to keep her eyes on his.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," Kevin took the words right out of her mouth. "I actually really don't want it to. But if you're bored," She slapped his chest as he laughed his way through the rest of his words. He pushed a strand of her hair back behind her shoulder, running a finger down the side of her neck and teased, "And I'm bored..."

Around them, Allison’s giggle turned heads as she knocked on his chest, tucking her ear to her shoulder to push his hand away. Her search for an inkling in his demeanor that he was truly joking came up empty. Allison's thoughts were much less coherent than this, of course, less so 'I can’t believe I’m kind of agreeing to fuck Kevin and he’s kind of agreeing with me too', and more so 'tonight’s dick, tomorrow’s problem'. She was giddy at the whole situation, how drunk they both were, how she didn’t really care at all that it was Kevin on the other end of a pair of hands and working tongue.

A patron pushed the way in between them, asking if they were finished so they could order a drink, and Allison skipped backwards through the crowd before turning when she saw him stepping away from the bar. She only turned to look at him once, smirking as he followed her like a puppy on a leash. Oh, it felt powerful, in some ways, the two of them only starting the growth of their surprising friendship. Maybe it was inevitable, one of them single and the other kind-of-single, that they would find themselves in this position. All it took was one simple, lingering look, and one sentence loaded with insinuation and heat; Kevin was handsome putty in her hands.

Allison didn't stop until they'd turned a quiet corner, close to a staff-only entrance and a fire door, where Kevin reached out first to put a steady hand on her waist as she playfully pulled him in closer.

"Tell me this is a bad idea." Allison whispered while hooking a finger through one of the belt loops on the front of his jeans. The same hand hung loosely over his waist, in between their bodies, as his hips brushed against her stomach.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up when Kevin took his free hand and rested his fingers in her hair, a thumb just behind her ear. Kevin sighed, just a millisecond of hesitation before his easily read eyes said fuck it.

"This is a bad idea." He looked from her eyes to her lips as he mumbled, pausing inches away from her face. She knew he was waiting for her to change her mind, but they'd gotten this far - why waste it? "Oh, a really fucking bad one."

(Kevin Day tasted like citrus and salt. Kevin Day tasted like a freshly cut lime wedge and vodka that he'd been drinking earlier; Kevin Day tasted like one too many, like a bad idea, like something she'd regret in the morning.)

[agentplutonium]

Another old fic of mine that I'm gonna share here as well cause I love it so much. As usual, if you prefer the AO3 format, you can read it on AO3 here.

2.6K, Rated T, Milo/Sweetheart, (Not) First Dates, Fluff, Coffee Shops, the typical fluffy Milo/Sweetheart content I usually make :)

and just so I don't take up an unreasonable amount of space on your dashboard, the fic will start under the cut <3

It’s been weeks.

Weeks of texting back and forth, giving updates, and constantly being reminded that Milo existed. Every time they got a message, they hoped it was him. Every notification they got they perked up, only to be let down when they saw something else. And between updates, Milo was initiating small talk. Asking how their day went, and if they had something to eat today. Asking if they’ve been taking the breaks that they needed— “proper breaks, where you don’t do work in another room saying you’re on break”— and if they’ve been getting sleep. Milo always had their best interest in mind, and it was infuriating. 

Well.

It’s not like it’s infuriating, just- inconvenient? They just wanted some answers and targeted Milo because one he was on the ground that day, and two his dad did work for the department (they’re still kinda upset that one backfired on them, they were certain that would be a point of pride for him). To say the least, that did not work for them, and now they were roped into giving him updates on the case. With him so involved it’s dangerous for him, and yet he was always the one that checked up on them.

It wasn’t even like they couldn’t take care of themselves! They’ve worked for the department for a few years now, and they knew the kind of situations they could get into. Though, they did have to admit that Milo’s reminders did help sometimes. They just get so focused on what they were doing, and simple things like that slip their mind. And, so what if Milo’s little ‘did you eat today’ messages made them realize that they were hungry? Again, it’s not like they weren’t taking care of themselves. They do eat, thank you very much. It’s just more of a routine thing. They really only had time to eat after work, and most of those were make-ahead meals. But at least they were eating! That’s what’s important here.

So, yeah, meeting Milo Greer was inconvenient for them.

And it was ruining their god-damn life.

It would have been fine if thoughts about him only happened during work. Which makes sense, since they were strictly involved with him because of a case. However, this guy was permeating their everyday thoughts. They wake up, they wonder if Milo is awake too. They’re making breakfast, and they think about how Milo always seems to know when to message them about if they ate. Hell, they started eating a proper breakfast because of Milo, and his rants about how ‘no wonder they’re so tired in the day, with no proper meals until 7 PM and an ungodly sleep schedule.’ They’re on their way home from work and they wonder if Milo is at a gig, or maybe in the den, or even at home with that cat of his. It seems they can’t get away from thinking about him, and how thoughtful he is, and how they so wanted to kiss that stupid cocky mouth of his-

Hold on.

Did they just think that?

Sneaks gave a sharp huff, dropping the spoon they were using to stir their coffee into the sink harsher than they meant to. They can’t just think things like that. That was definitely crossing boundaries. This was a work thing. Nothing else. 

Nothing. Else.

… Okay, so what if they indulged in his flirting just a bit? It was a tactic to keep him talking to them in the beginning, and now it was just a thing that they do. Surely that didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t because, again, this was a work thing.

Their phone buzzed on the counter, and Sneaks was scooping it up within seconds, coffee in their other hand. Their lips tilted up into a small smile when they saw the name on their phone.

Milo: Good morning, Sweetheart

They typed back their response without thinking.

How’d you know I’d even be awake?

Milo: You’re always up before seven

Sneaks rolled their eyes. Of course he’d pick that up.

What do you want, Greer?

Milo: Can I not say good morning to you now?

Usually, there’s an ulterior motive

Milo: Okay, fair. I just wanted to know if you ate breakfast yet.

Sweetheart sighed, once again rolling their eyes, but this time it was accompanied by their grin widening. It was like clockwork recently. 

Yes. but shouldn’t you be worrying about yourself, Greer?

 Milo: ah, don’t worry about me. But that offer for lunch still stands.

Right. They forgot about that, really. It was something offered in passing about a week ago, and every couple of days Milo would bring it up again. They weren’t sure of the connotations behind said lunch. Was it Milo just doing something nice for them, or something more? Did they want something more? Were there any feelings at all, or was it just close proximity that made them more inclined to lunch with him? If they stopped talking for a few weeks, would their answer change? Were they just thinking about him so much and entertaining this because he texts them literally every day?

A few minutes go by and Sneaks realized that they haven’t responded to Milo yet. They turn their phone back on to send a quick reply of:

We’ll see, Greer.

They put their phone away and finished getting ready for work.

They hadn’t thought about Milo or the p[otential lunch date for the entire morning. Well… for most of the morning, at least.

They had gotten a new lead on the shade case, and spent hours making sure that it was viable before they made plans to go investigate it that afternoon. But, as it got closer to lunchtime, their mind kept drifting back to the message from Milo earlier that morning. It wouldn’t hurt to have a lunch date with him. They would just have to be sure that he knew that it was strictly a business thing. An update meeting of sorts. And nothing else. Plus, they could use a proper meal before they headed out today. 

They checked the time. It was almost eleven, which was a little late to schedule a lunch meeting, but they texted him an invite to a cafe nearby the office for one. The response was immediate, agreeing to the plans and promising to be there. Sneaks gave another small smile at the eagerness Milo was expressing. He always tried to act so suavely and yet they saw right through him when they offered to meet up. He was like an eager puppy, which was something they’d never say to his face. They felt like that would almost be an insult to a shifter like him.

When it got closer to one, they got ready to go out. They locked up their office after making sure they had everything, walking to the elevator. They patted the secretaries desk on their way by, getting their attention.

“I’m headed out to lunch,” Sneaks said, “if you really need me I do have my cell on me, but try not to bother me, ‘kay?’

The secretary raised an eyebrow, giving a playful smirk. “Who are you and what did you do with Sneaks, huh? Going out for lunch, saying not to contact you, this is really out of character.”

Sneaks rolled their eyes. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Okay, but you’re telling me all about this date when you get back!” The secretary called after them.

“It’s not a date,” Sneaks called back as the elevator closed.

The secretary only laughed, but it was cut off.

The walk was a short one, and it might have been easier to drive but Sneaks liked being outside. Milo was waiting just outside the cafe when they arrived, which they found odd but it wasn’t something unexpected.

“Hopefully I didn’t make you wait too long,” they commented when they were close enough. 

Milo looked up at them, smiling already. He typed out something quick on his phone before sliding it into his pocket and turning toward them. “Nah, not too long. Besides, I would have waited hours just to see you, Sweetheart.”

Sneaks rolled their eyes, ignoring the flutter that sent through their chest. “Let’s go inside. I only have an hour.”

It turns out that Milo had never been to this cafe, which Sneaks was prepared for. They did suggest a few things for him, and he actually took them up on one of the sandwiches that they mentioned. They were giddy about that fact, not only because it was something that they suggested, but because this shop's sandwiches were all so good. 

Sneaks had paid, and the only reason they got away with it was them saying ‘I invited you here, I get to pay.’ Though it was still a bit of a squabble because Milo insisted that they should at least split it since he came up with the idea at first. Sneaks still won, however.

Milo offered to bring over the food if they took the drinks and found a spot for them to sit. Sneaks weren’t allowed to say no, so they did as suggested with only a little fuss. The shop wasn’t very busy, but their favourite spot by the window was open so they wanted to nab it before it was gone. 

It didn’t take long for the sandwiches to come out, it never did, and soon Milo was joining them at their table with an easy-going smile.

“So, I have to ask,” Milo said as they both settled with their food, “what made you change your mind about coming out with me today?”

“Well, it was mainly to update you on the very few new things I got for the case.”

Milo shook his head. “That’s not gonna fly, sorry Sweetheart.”

Sneaks almost choked on their mouthful as they processed his words. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I don’t want to talk about work things right now,” Milo said. “I want to talk to you. The real you, not investigator you.” “You saying I have a facade going, Greer?” Milo shrugged. “Well, no. But there is a difference. Even in your texts.”

Sneaks never saw it that way. They also weren’t used to people turning down work conversations during work hours. “Okay?”

Milo shrugs again, looking at his sandwich so he didn’t have to make eye contact anymore. “So, yeah. Take a break. Don’t think about work for a while. Just… talk to me.”

Sneaks couldn’t help their chest growing warm at the words. It was just so… considerate. So much of Milo did this to them, it wasn’t fair. Everything he does is just so in tune with them it was crazy. “What do you want to talk about?” They offered.

Milo thought for a second, pursing his lips as he did so. Sweetheart looked away before Milo caught them staring, taking a bite of their sandwich. “What do you do for hobbies? Like, outside of work, in your spare time.”

Sneaks had to think about that one for a few moments. Work was such a big part of their life, that they really didn't have time for much else. Though they did like to read in their spare time. The rare hour or so they have between everything that they can sit down and read a chapter or two of a book. So, that’s what they talked about. They prattled on about a few of their favourite books, being encouraged by the questions that Milo was asking.

The conversation flowed easily enough. Switching from one person to the next, always being connected by a similar thought. Milo talked about how he would go on hikes for fun to get his mind off of work, which reminded Sneaks of the trips they took as a kid, which lead to Milo telling them about how he got one of his scars, on and on. Sneaks were the most at ease they have been in a long time. All because Milo just wanted to talk.

Lots of things were easy around Milo. Conversations, silences, and time spent together. Sharing fears, hopes, and dreams. Milo could ask them anything and they’d give it to him so willingly. It was easy to forget that the only reason they ever met him was because of work.

Their phone going off ruined that facade very quickly.

“Shit,” Sneaks muttered as they turned off the alarm. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time. I have to go.” “That’s fine,” Milo said. “I knew you only had so much time. Maybe I can walk back with you?” “I don’t want to keep you any longer.”

Milo gave them a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry about it. I have the day off today, and have nothing better to do.”

Sneaks knew they should say no. They really, really should, but they already had lunch with the man so… what’s five more minutes?

“Alright, Greer.”

They turned to pick up their bag, but not before they saw Milo break out into an uncontrollable grin. They tried to suppress the butterflies that cropped up in their stomach at the sight. They really had to get that under control.

Milo stepped in front of them to open the door, to which they gave a kind smile. Though, when they both got on the sidewalk, Milo made sure to be on the side closest to the road. Sneaks couldn’t help but wonder if it was intentional, but something was telling them it wasn’t. After his comments of being ‘the protector type’ and all, they had a feeling it was just instinct. The action didn’t go unappreciated, and Sneaks didn’t mind it this time when usually they did.

Milo kept the conversation going with ease as they walked down the road to Sneaks’ office. Though, Sneaks thought they saw his face fall a bit when they slowed to a stop in front of the main doors. 

“I can see why you suggested that cafe,” Milo said with a slight chuckle.

“Yep,” Sneaks responded, popping the ‘p’ gently. “It was really fun though, Milo. We should hang out more often.” “Next time I’m paying,” Milo said, grinning.

Sneaks shook their head, an exasperated grin on their face. “Sure, whatever you say, Milo.” They did not comment on how the prospect of ‘next time’ made them feel.

He let them go after that, saying goodbye with a small wave. Sneaks stood there for a few moments before turning themself and heading inside. In the elevator, their watch buzzed, and they pulled out their phone to check the notification.

Milo: I do still want that update. Meet me at my apartment tonight?

Sure, Milo. I’ll let you know when I’m headed over. Shouldn’t be too much later than 7.

They ignored the secretary's looks as they passed to head to their office once more, planning on finishing up a few requests to go out investigating tonight. They won’t receive approval in time, but that still wasn’t going to stop them.

Tonight they might get some actual headway into the case. Finally.

Their phone buzzed in their hand again as they closed the office door, and they smiled at the message they saw.

Milo: I’ll see you tonight then, Sweetheart

Despite the grumbling they did at first, Sneaks was starting to grow fond of the nickname.

Milo was inconvenient, sure, but he was an inconvenience that Sneaks was willing to work with. An inconvenience that they wanted to get to know more. An inconvenience that they were catching feelings for.

And they were gonna let this inconvenience ruin their life.

[alrxiin]

so... thanks for the idea @mokozroach , now that I'm done with my winter break, I have done it :3

(not proofread)

TW's : 'Cheating', fighting, mentions of character getting hurt, character death, su!cid3 mention.

Sam x Darlin' (GN reader) | angst

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

"I'm Losing Hope In Our Lives Apart."

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

A week. It's been a week since the death of William, other Vamps speculate the cause was Demon Blood, but even after such long time there's nothing sure.

The death hit Sam hard, to say the least, especially after the Summit and the other murders... but Darlin' has been next to him every day, making sure he was fine and taking care of himself.

This day was different though, Sam had told them he's going on a walk, which isn't actually that unusual for him. What was unusual, is that when they went out to get him – since they had made food and didn't really like eating alone anymore – he wasn't in his usual spots that he would end the walk in.

Not in the small spot where tree's didn't grow and made a perfect place to watch the stars.

Not anywhere near the hills he would sit on and watch Dahlias lights shine at night.

Nowhere. He seemingly was nowhere.

Worried for their mate, they made sure the house door was locked before heading out to look for Samuel carefully sniffing around to catch his scent – which was fairly easy considering the time they had spent with him.

2 years, they have been together for 2 years, and they could recognize his scent anywhere.

Following his trail, they stumbled through the woods mindlessly, going into Vamp territory just like the first time they had met when they were after Quinn.

Close, they felt him so close now, looking around through the trees, and finally they saw a blonde tuft of hair.

Relief washes over them and they quicken their pace, going around the trees to him, only for shock to go through their body when they do.

There he was, Samuel Collins, sitting on a fallen tree, and on his lap, Alexis. A nightmare come true.

Since the very first time Sam has told them about her, they hated her for what she has done, and – to a point – feared that she would weasel her way into their lives. Exactly like she had now, and it took every ounce of self respect they have not to burst into tears, but it had brought them into being violent yet again.

Hitting something that would definitely hit back.

Walking out and up to them, hands balled up into fists, they spoke up finally.

- "You absolute bitch..." —

- "Alexis?.." — Sam's voice came through weakly, like he was disassociated, the hold Alexis has on him still strong.

- "What did you just call me?" — She scoffed, getting off of him to face them, irritation showing on her face.

- "I called you a bitch. What are you, deaf?" — And with that, she lunged at them.

They knew they stood almost no chance against her, they found that out so many times before while fighting off Vamp after Vamp, she overpowered them with ease. Yet they had no intention of stopping, putting up a fight like they had always done before.

Every bit of emotion getting out of them as they fought, taking hit after hit from the woman, and striking back when they had the chance, taking it as far as turning to try and get their chances up.

They knew that Sam wouldn't do something like this on his own, that she had to do something to get him to be with her.

They hated it so much.

Lost in thought, so many emotions going through their head – betrayal, anger, confusion, whatever the hell else there is – and before they knew it, Alexis struck again, landing a final blow.

They gasped, finally conscious yet again, and instead of giving her the satisfaction of looking at her, they instead looked at Samuel.

It's like something snapped in him, the invoking she had done going loose, and he was looking back at them again.

- "Wait... no." — His voice quivred, and he got up from the log, quickly jumping into action and running up to them as they fell back, already too dizzy to stay up.

- "Darlin'!.. shit, please don't do this!.." — He took their hand, shaking ever so slightly as he panicked. His powers had weakened from the sort of trance she had put on him, and he would have no way of healing the damage Alexis had done, not like this.

And in the end, it was too late, and Darlin' layed limp on the ground..hand so cold in his.

- "Awhh... poor little puppy. All bark, and yet, no bite." — She put on a pity face, only a giggle escaping from her as she stepped closer, putting a hand on Samuel's shoulder.. only to have it pushed off in a hurry, with anger on his face and tears in his eyes, he gazed up at her.

- "Why, why do you always do this?! Why do you always take everything I have away from me?.." — His voice broke at the end, unable to maintain the threatening tone, as a sob ripped through him.

- "Oh Sammy... you must realize they were a downgrade from me, do you not?" — Her voice, terrifyingly calm and collected. She put a hand under his chin, lifting it up to face her properly, with a touch so gentle...

- "They were just a lost puppy, that turned everyone away and clinged to the first person that showed a little care. But now, you don't have to worry.. you know well that we're a gorgeous match." — The smile, meant to pull him in, only made him come to his senses.

Sam pulled his face away, and his eyes turned a copper red in anger and disgust.

- "I would rather die, than be with someone like you, Alexis." — His voice came out muffled, gritting his teeth to try and keep his composure.

The woman, was left in a form of shock and he took that chance, picking up his mates limp and pale body into his arms, before speeding away back to their house.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

Not even a week later, the Shaw Pack got worried from the lack of contact from Sam, knowing how heartbreaking it is to lose someone – a lover nonetheless – so tragically, without even as little as a goodbye. And it wasn't until Vincent had called, that they had gotten the news...

"Samuel took his life." — was what he said.

He couldn't have gone on without them, without the only true spark of light in his nocturnal life that he had.

He had no one.

And now, he hoped he would see them again in their next life... Together, in every universe, every form. Forever.

[seventh-district]

Dying Star

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

- - - - - - -

Sam’s words have been weighing heavy on your mind ever since you discussed your shared future and the various forms it could take. You didn’t realize just how heavy they were until it all came spilling out of your tired mind on a late night spent together beneath the stars.

Pairing: Sam x Darlin' / Reader

Word Count: 4,053

Contains: [angst] [a dash of humor] [a hint of chubby!Sam bc i like 'em strong and soft] [crying] [cuddling (dub-con cuddles with Quinn in the past & consensual ones with Sam in the present)] [emotional hurt/comfort] [implied/referenced dub-con sex (nothing graphic) (in the past between Darlin' and Quinn to be specific) (refer to my Ao3 notes for further explanation)] [mentioned Quinn] [not quite Dissociation i guess but Darlin' does zone-out/get lost in thought more than once] [pet names (Darlin' (obvs.) and honey)] [Reader is Darlin'] [Sam wears a cowboy hat bc i said so] [some passive suicidality from Sam if you squint (hell, maybe you don't even have to squint)]

A/Ns: Well, well, well, here I am, the person who said they wouldn't write any Redactedverse fanfic. I recently felt a mighty need to expand upon the blurb I wrote in this post, and I'm braving my fandom anxiety by sharing it here. pls be nice 2 me abt it

Timeline-wise, this fic takes place sometime after the ‘Talking About the Future With Your Vampire Mate’ audio but sometime before their presumed eventual departure from the house that William gave Sam, given that they've already had the 'turning' discussion but are still on the same roof in this fic.

This is a songfic, inspired by and quoting verses from 3 songs. Those being:

‘Dying Star’ by Ashnikko feat. Ethel Cain

‘Fix What You Didn’t Break’ by Nate Smith

‘No Plan’ by Hozier

The roof of Sam’s house is far from a ‘cushy’ place to relax. But as you lie here next to him under the stars, a knowledge settles within you that you wouldn’t trade the rough shingles beneath you for the softest mattress in the world. Not if it meant there’d be anyone other than him lying next to you.

Some people might counter that it’s an easy thing for you to say, given the number of nights you’ve thrown a balled-up shirt onto one end of a worn-out couch and called it a bed. But some people don’t know you as well as they think they do.

You’ve known luxury. Quinn might’ve been just as content taking his fill on a seedy motel bed as he was wrapped in silks at a Hilton, but he knew how to play up the luxe when it served him to do so. And in the early days as he worked to lure you in, it did. Plush sheets and expensive drinks helped to soften the preordained blows and dull the imminent pain that your nights with him held.

Once you’d latched onto the bait though, he let the act drop one piece at a time, like props collapsing on a stage. After all, what was the point in all of those frivolities when you both knew what you really came to him for? It wasn’t to be wined and dined, it wasn’t to be dressed up and shown off, and it wasn’t even to be slowly stripped of it all, laid out across the rolling clouds of a pillowy mattress.

It was to be used. Tranced. Restrained. Bitten. Drank from. Choked. Hit. Edged. Denied. Made to writhe and whine and bleed and plead. Plead for more, for less, for nothing, for anything. Anything to quiet your mind and fill the ever-expanding void inside you where you suspect love was supposed to live.

That’s what you both really wanted.

At least, that’s what you told him you wanted.

That’s what you told yourself.

You only got what you asked for.

To your right, Sam stirs, stretching gently with a yawn. The soft noise he releases as he does so reminds you of where you are, and you trace back through your thoughts to find how you got so lost.

…Right. Luxury.

While your relationship with Quinn certainly changed over time, you never forgot what it felt like in the beginning. 

You remember nights laid next to him, body sore, mind quiet. Quinn’s idea of aftercare was lacking to say the least, but you had nothing better to compare it to at the time, and you’d take what you could get. At least your head felt empty, and the bed was soft. Exhaustion would pull you under soon enough.

The mattress, sheets, and pillows enveloping you were likely worth more than you even made that past month. ...Or several. You found that display of luxury hard to be impressed by though, when it wasn’t the type of comfort you’d been seeking.

As Quinn shifted in his presumed sleep, pulling you in tighter, you didn’t fight it. You found yourself unwilling to fight anything he did, like his mere presence was enough to drain the fight right out of you. You told yourself that you were okay with that. Because you wanted it.

Lying there with your head on his bare chest, you took a deep breath and told yourself that you liked the stench of cheap cologne, poorly masking the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. You silently told yourself that you liked everything. You liked the pain that he chased with hints of pleasure. You liked the loss of power, the way you couldn’t fight back if you wanted to once he looked you in the eyes. You liked all the things he said, no matter how much the truth might hurt.

He was right, you supposed. Your desires, the things you craved, the depravity that you so enjoyed, wasn’t normal. It was uncommon, unusual, and in the eyes of some, unfathomable. To possess such dark desires, there must be something truly broken inside you.

How lucky you were, to have found someone willing to indulge you. Someone that could give you everything you wanted, and be so kind as to keep it a secret too. He promised that word of the things he did to you, the things you let him do, would never get out. You remember the way he held your hand as he told you, falling for the guise of sincerity in his eyes. You remember his warm smile, and his razor sharp teeth.

You remember seeing that exact same smile on his face through one-way glass as he sat across from Sam and told him everything.

You stood in that room and thought back to those nights of luxury. To the feeling of his nails ghosting over the freshly healed punctures in your neck. To the way he held you against him. You remember laying there, lifeless, feeling like prey playing dead. Afraid to move, afraid to disturb him. But why? He hadn’t threatened you. He never told you that you had to stay. He never said that you couldn’t move, or pull away. So why did you feel that way?

As you stood, helplessly witnessing hours of his slander in that interrogation room, you understood. Your rose-tinted glasses had long since shattered, and you saw that smile for what it was. It was the smile of a man playing a dangerous game, brimming with satisfaction, thinking he’d won.

The radio near you begins to crackle, static obscuring the hosts voice as they announce the upcoming song. Sam doesn’t even open his eyes, just raises a hand and reaches out, blindly adjusting the antenna of the old device.

You’ve teased him for holding onto it for so long, as he is wont to do with damn near all of his possessions. But as you watch him deftly extend and angle the antenna with practiced care, the response he once gave you proves itself true once again.

“I don’t wanna replace it, Darlin’. It’s not broken. It just needs someone who knows how to make it sing again.”

The static clears, and music flows through the radio’s old speakers once more.

You watch Sam return his hand to its prior position beneath his head, acting as a makeshift pillow of his own. The way he’s lying has his hat pushed forward, and it’d be doing a damn good job of shielding his face from the sun if it weren’t somewhere around midnight at the moment. Still, it suits him somehow, despite its lack of any practicality. All he’s missing is a stalk of wheat between his teeth and a tree to lean against and he’d be the spitting image of the cowboy he swears he isn’t.

His other hand rests on the soft curve of his stomach, rising and falling again as he breathes. He’s the image of peace in moments like these, and you’re drawn to it like a moth to flame. Maybe one of these days you’ll find some of your own, but for now you’re more than content to bask in his.

As you admire him, he takes a slow, deep breath and you mirror it on instinct. The grounding practice helps you leave your mind and return to your body, if just for a moment. In doing so, you realize just how tense your ruminations have made you.

You relax your hands, releasing the blanket beneath you from your iron grip. You brush your palms over it, worried that you’ve torn the fabric once you realize that your nails had halfway shifted to claws. You don’t fret much over damage to your own possessions, but this blanket is Sam’s and you’d hate to ruin it. Though, you suppose he doesn’t prize it too much or he wouldn’t have laid it out here across the roof in the first place.

“If I buy somethin’ it’s because I wanna use it. Now quit frettin’ and get over here.” You recall what he told you earlier as he patted the blanket next to him in invitation, and you smile.

Doing a small stretch of your own, you release the tension in your shoulders, turning your attention back to the stars above you. For a while, you let the soft music wash over your tired mind.

“I asked him not to kill me politely. He drained my magic core, bottled up at the source. I washed up on the sea glass shores. I’m nobody's captive.”

In spite of your best efforts to relax, you’re still subconsciously futzing with the loose threads of the old blanket beneath you.

You’re made aware of it when Sam reaches a hand down, gently laying it over yours and effectively stilling your anxious motion.

“Burning like a dying star, invasive weeds rooted in my heart, set in a crooked trajectory. The journey here was hard, I was almost pulled apart. Trying to leave his orbit took what’s left of me.”

You flip your hand over beneath his so you can hold it properly, lacing your fingers together.

For reasons beyond your understanding, emotion tightens your throat, the threat of tears pooling in your eyes.

…You must be more tired than you thought.

As minutes pass and one song fades into another, your gaze dances across the blurry, scattered points of light in the dark sky.

“You were the star in the pitch black, shine the way on the way back. Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers.”

Sam’s always been so much better at identifying stars and finding constellations. But as the music plays, you begin to see one of your own.

“Picked up the towel that I threw in, took in a heart that was ruined. Showed me the past ain’t a tattoo, loved me even when you didn’t have to.”

“Sam.” You squeeze his hand to get his attention.

He squeezes back in acknowledgment. “Hm?”

“I want you to look at something.” You swallow back the emotion that tries to seep into your voice, but it catches his attention all the same.

He leans up and lifts his hat from his head, setting it aside near the radio. He then reaches to turn a dial back, lowering the music’s volume to give you his full attention.

You release his hand, raising yours up as he turns back to face you. You don’t say anything at first, nearly too lost in your own mind to realize you need to actually voice your developing thoughts.

"What—what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Your hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in your line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above you. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow your less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', your pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along your exposed wrist where your sleeve had slipped back, he takes your hand in his again and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." You say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." You nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting you. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

You scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh. "No—no I mean—like... what's another name for it... Oh, it's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but you cut him off before he can start. "But no. No, this isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in your overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Your frown is audible in your voice as you latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at your over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, honey, I promise."

You huff, but begrudgingly shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention.”

Sam’s brow furrows as you continue to explain, realization setting in that you really are being serious.

“I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...And there you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places and people that I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, at Wonderworld, surrounded by the ghost of him. Your warmth, your presence, your aura—even with all of your walls up, you outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me home."

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand squeezes yours tight, his urgent tone pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

You look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, faint shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

You reach out, pulling him down into you. He falters for a moment at the sudden proximity, but quickly embraces you in turn. Burying your face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear your words, muffled against the thick flannel, but his hearing catches them just fine.

"Don't burn out too quickly. Please. I still need you here. I don't—I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

The words feel like a weight being lifted from your shoulders, but with it comes a flood of emotion they’d been holding back. You cry harder into him, and as much as it pains Sam to witness, he lets you feel it, for as long as you need.

Your fear of losing him manifests itself physically, nails curling and sharpening again. When he feels them prick his skin through the fabric of his shirt, he calls your name but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans further down into you, letting his weight ground you. “Darlin’, I am right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As you eventually cry yourself out, enough wherewithal returns to you to realize that you should probably release the poor man from your grasp, and the awkward position you pulled him into. When he pulls away enough to see your face, you notice a string of snot running from your nose to his shirt collar. Quickly batting it away out of embarrassment, you cringe, voice thick as you apologize. “Eugh, gross. Uh… sorry. About that.”

He shakes his head, laughing good-naturedly as you wipe at your nose with your jacket sleeve. “It’s completely fine, honey. After all, I’ve been covered in plenty of your, uh… various fluids before. When you come from my line of work, this is child’s play.”

He leans to his right, reaching back and pulling—of all things—a handkerchief from his jeans’ left back pocket. You laugh at his words, and at the sight, but with how congested you are it turns into more of a hacking cough than anything. Accepting his offering, you blow your nose into the black patterned fabric.

As soon as you can speak somewhat clearly, you can’t stop the teasing remark that slips out of you, gesturing with the wad of fabric in your hand. “You know, you really aren’t beating the cowboy allegations with stuff like this.”

He rolls his eyes but his soft smile remains. “It’s a practical thing to have on me, ‘allegations’ be damned.”

You shake your head with a smile of your own, but don’t disagree. As you’re visibly unsure what to do with the dirtied fabric, he takes it from you, setting it aside. “I’ll toss it in the wash when we go back inside. Along with my shirt, and…” He eyes you for a moment. “…that jacket of yours too, given how long you’ve probably been wearin’ it.”

Normally you’d argue that it hasn’t been that long, but come to think of it, you actually can’t recall when you last washed the thing.

Reaching up and rubbing your temples, you already regret your crying fit as a headache begins to set in. “Fuck, Sam... I’m sorry for… whatever that just was. I don’t know what came over me.”

His expression falls into something serious again. “You never need to apologize for feeling. And it certainly seems like… you needed to feel that.”

You nod quietly, but don’t elaborate, prompting him to question you gently. “Darlin’. What was that about? The—the askin’ me not to leave. Are you… afraid that I’m gonna leave you?”

You close your eyes, weighing out your response. “…Not in the sense that you’ll break up with me or something, no.”

His gaze narrows and his head tilts as he rolls your answer over in his mind. “If it ain’t that, then—” He remembers how you mentioned ‘forever’ and cuts himself off as the puzzle pieces start coming together. “Oh. …Oh, Darlin’, no.”

You open your eyes to watch as he shifts from leaning next to you, moving to sit up beside you. “Is this about what I told you, when we sat up here and had our uh… turning discussion?”

You hate to admit it, but you nod in confirmation. “…It’s your choice, Sam, and I never want to take that away from you. I shouldn’t have said what I just did, I—I don’t want to make you feel guilty, or like you have to stick around for my sake. But I’d be lying to you if I said it hasn’t been playing on my mind. The thought of you… leaving. Like that.”

He reaches up, running a hand through his hair. “I… think I maybe should’ve been a bit more clear, when I said that. Because I wasn’t talking about any time soon. I didn’t want to give you the false impression that I plan on sticking around for centuries, but… I also wasn’t trying to imply that I’ve got plans to do it next week either.”

You bolt upright, voice cracking. “Next week?! I sure as shit hope not!” You grab your head, pain flaring and suddenly dizzy from the quick shift in position.

He places a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “I’m not, honey, I’m not. Did you catch the rest of my sentence? I’ve got no plans to leave this world any time soon. I promise.”

You groan, head pounding. “I heard you, I did, I just—fuck, I don’t even wanna think about you leaving so soon. Here I am, stressing, thinking I’ve only got—I don’t know—some odd years left with you, and…” You sigh, trailing off.

Sam stays quiet for a minute, letting the crickets sing.

Eventually, he interrupts their chorus. “…Can I get closer to you?”

You nod. “…Please.”

He closes the gap between you, carefully wrapping a strong arm around your curled shoulders. “You’ve got way more than a couple years. I promise you that.” Your tension begins to ease a bit as he clarifies. “You… you’ve helped me find a life that I actually feel like livin’ again, for the first time in a long time. And I want to experience it with you for as long as I can.”

“…Really?” Your voice sounds so small, so unsure, so… unlike you when you question him that he wants to kick himself in his own ass for the role he unintentionally played in making you feel this way.

“Yes. Really. I mean—” His voice takes on an edge of humor. “If you decide to set your sights on the year 3,000…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. But as far as the 21st century is concerned? …I think I’d like to see it through. For as long as you’re there to see it with me.”

His words cause fresh tears to well up in your eyes, and you sniff in an attempt to hold them back. The sound catches his attention, and he leans forward, thumbing across your warm cheek. “…I’m makin’ you cry again…”

You shake your head, clearing your throat. “No—No, it’s okay. It’s good. They’re… they’re good. It’s… relief.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh of his own. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning into him. “Yeah.”

As you rest against each other, breathing in the cool night air, you nudge him with your shoulder. “Can we… lay back? For a bit?”

He squeezes your arm in gentle confirmation. “Of course.”

He twists and reaches back to straighten the wrinkled blanket beneath you, before laying out across it himself. The radio crackles as he turns the volume back up a bit. Watching him with tired eyes, you smile at the sight of him patting his chest in habitual invitation.

“Sit in and watch the sunlight fade. Honey, enjoy, it’s gettin’ late. There’s no plan. There’s no hand on the reign. As Mack explained, there will be darkness again.”

Curling up against his side and laying your head on his chest, you release a heavy sigh when his hand comes up to rest on your shoulder. As his fingers press rhythmically into the tense muscle beneath them, you breathe in his scent. Black coffee and wildflower honey… he smells like home.

“Your secret is safe with me, and if secrets were like seeds, when I’m lyin’ under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made.”

You reach your hand out across his broad chest, slipping beneath his open flannel and sliding down to rest on his waist. He sighs, relaxing further beneath your touch.

“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. That’s how I know now that you understand.”

Yeah, you’ll take this over ‘luxury’ any damn day.

“There’s no plan. There’s no race to be run.”

Laying there with him, listening to the low hum of the radio, the moment grows so comfortable that you almost hesitate to break it.

“The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the song.”

“…Sam?” You whisper into the night.

His hand sweeps across your back before returning to your shoulder. “I’m here, Darlin’.”

“There’s no plan. There’s no kingdom to come.”

You smile. “I… I’d like to be there, to be here, to see it through with you, too.”

It takes him a moment to recall exactly what you’re referring to, but when it hits him he hums a low understanding tone, clearly pleased. “Then let’s see where it takes us, yeah?”

“But I’ll be your man if you got love to get done.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve got plenty a’ time.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my extensive notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. My Sam & Darlin' Playlist My Sam Playlist My Darlin' Playlist My Sam & Darlin' Moodboard My Sam Moodboard My Darlin' Moodboard Header Image Credit: Gage Smith on Unsplash

[maagisterpavus]

Get to Know You Better Tag Game

Thanks @themildmahariel for the tag on this one!!

Tagging @silent-words @nevarrantorte @in-the-drowning-deep @themagistersbirthright @tevivinter if you'd like to join in <3

Last Song: Scars by Dirty Honey (this band is sickkk--discovered them when they opened for Slash a few years back!)

Favorite Color: Pink! or purple.

Currently Watching: Chicago Fire (if half-paying attention while someone else is binging it counts as watching) (I do like it though)

Last Movie: oh jeez. I don't remember the last one I watched all the way through. Caught the second half of Jaws on TV last weekend though (faaaave)

Sweet, Savory, or Spicy: Sweet, without question. getting a piece of chocolate as we speak. i deserve it

Currently Reading: I... hate to admit this, but I haven't been much a reader for a long while. 😭 I want to read some of the DA books at least... I will... eventually...

Current Obsession: Dragon Age! in case it wasn't obvious.

Currently Working On: What I should say is "my fics." But that's barely been happening lately. So instead what I'm really working on is giving myself grace for that, and not beating myself up so much for not having the energy for all the things I want to do sometimes. you can't pour from an empty cup.

[doctorweebmd]

today was the first edit of the 'atsushi mourns akutagawa' fic that didn't leave me wanting to rip my hair and stick a fork into an electric socket. so. progress.

[themonotonysyndrome]

Cutie would like to believe they're a good person.

But they're great when it comes to thinking outside of the box.

"Happy birthday, sweetie! Everyone has been so excited to celebrate when you manifested your magic last month! Your Dad can't wait to teach you his Earth tricks - did... did you just speak in my head?"

"Oh hey! Nah, you're alright; class hasn't start yet. Are you a new student? Cool! I'm a Freelancer. You? ...Oh."

" - so lame, though. All they can do is read the other team's minds. Yeah, but what's good about gathering intel when they need consent before digging into our opponents' brains? I'm not saying they're useless - "

"Unfortunately, the Department isn't looking to hire any new Investigator at this moment with your particular skillset. But don't worry, you'll be the first person I'll call when we have an open position."

Creativity is the spice of life. Or, in Cutie's perspective, an edge that made a mundane Telepath... not so mundane.

A Telepath reads minds, but who says they can't be more?

Who to say a Telepath can't command the heart - an organ that pumps life within the body - to stop beating?

Who says a Telepath can't whisper random words that condition the brain into transforming a person into someone else entirely?

Who to say a Telepath can't plant false memories just like a De(a)mon could?

Who to say a Telepath can't become the government's prized interrogator and something akin to Nick Fury of the Empowered world?

Morality be damned when you're damn good at what you do.

But whenever Cutie was with Geordi, they were never good or great -

They were happy and oh, look at that. It's been so long since Cutie could remember they were genuinely happy ever since they got their magic. Eyes quickly averted and hardly a second glance whenever they're around family and friends after all.

But Geordi is an Unempowered human. Geordi isn't like those the Department threw at them.

Cutie isn't good but they're great.

...

Why isn't that enough anymore?